


Ties

by vesper_house



Series: Morning Comes [6]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, DCEU, DCU (Movies), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Bondage, Bottom Clark, Daddy Kink, Insecurity, Jealous Bruce Wayne, Jealousy, Kinbaku, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Misunderstandings, Shibari, Smut, Top Bruce
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-16 23:13:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10581477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vesper_house/pseuds/vesper_house
Summary: Bruce finds out about something that makes him jealous. It reflects in the bedroom.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This one's quite dark because Bruce is a dark, brooding character and I love him for it. Hope you'll enjoy it anyway!

\---

In the morning, Bruce finds a tiny envelope hidden in his favorite coffee cup. _Anytime,_ the card says. A shiny object falls on the kitchen tiles. It is not a mystery what kind of lock the key is meant for. Not even remotely. He is grateful that Clark left it this way, without saying a word. Otherwise it would have to be a declaration of some sort. Key to the apartment… That is serious, is it not?

Bruce carries it around in his pocket throughout the day, wondering what to do. It gets to a point where the thing nearly burns his thigh. He still thinks about it in the dead of night, concealed by the comforting shadows. Clark texted him in the afternoon: _The CK is really comfortable. You do know my size._ Innocent conversation starter that could be taken in any direction desirable, yet Bruce is convinced that it would most definitely lead to the following: _did you find the key? What do you think? Is it okay?_ _Are we moving too fast?_

So Bruce did not text him back. It was not because he wanted to distance himself. He just really does not know how he feels about it. The clothes were a mistake, that is for sure. It just seemed like a good way to… _To what, exactly? What was I thinking?_ Bruce asks himself, driving back to the cave. Buying gifts was a normal, widely approved step in courting. Clothes, perfumes, jewelry, shoes, cars – everyone expected him to provide luxurious goods. It was all a part of the game Bruce Wayne occasionally liked to play, but never put too much heart into. 

Clark had to have the key made before he knew about the clothes. They are even now. This is not a repayment – it is an exchange made at the right time. An invitation. _Do I want to be invited?_ Bruce ponders, trying to fall asleep without any drugs. (It is so much easier when Clark is in bed with him.) That is the problem when you cut off emotions for too long: once you want to revisit the concept of feeling something, you do not recognize any of them, you do not remember the names. It is like being in a library, leisurely passing by hundreds of bookcases, looking at the titles and suddenly realizing that you have been illiterate for your entire life.

\---

Valentine’s Day is coming and Clark does not have the guts to ask Bruce on a date. Things between them got chilly after  the key. They have not really talk since then, not like lovers at least. Clark cannot figure out at what pace this relationship is supposed to be going. Between having amazing sex since day one and getting to know their darkest secrets, it is hard to meet all the stages of ordinary dating. One stop forward, two steps back, if the text _“Busy. Talk to you on Thursday”_ is any indication. Thursday is the 15 th.

Moving forward is the natural way of course. Ma does not want to put any pressure but she is dying to meet Bruce. Lois is beginning to suspect that something is off. And the Valentine’s Day… Yes, it is a soulless, fake holiday powered by corporate greed, but to Clark it does mean something to go on a date with someone special on February 14th. Besides, what is so wrong about having rituals? A card with a few nice words never killed anyone.

Being the one more invested in a relationship stings his self-esteem pretty badly. Clark sighs; perhaps he should tone it down a notch. Stop stalking Wayne Enterprises social media. Avoid digging into the Batman’s history. Refrain from scrolling through gossip blogs and brooding over pictures of Bruce’s past conquests. (They were all so gorgeous it physically hurts to look at them.) Pretend that he is absolutely _not_ waiting for a text or a call. After all they are not kids: this is not the time for cute dates and endless walks. _Does he even like long walks?_ Clark wonders. It should come as no surprise that Bruce is all he can think about. When it is bright or dark, quiet or noisy, his thoughts run to the man with October eyes. There is nothing left to do but surrender.

\---

It is a cold Valentine’s Day in Metropolis. White snow contrasts beautifully with the red and pink decorations on the streets. Everyone can feel the buzz even if they try to deny it. After suffering through a handful of internal battles, Bruce can count himself among the ones who are not immune to the doings of the Cupid. He is going to surprise Clark with a dinner at his flat. That is what good boyfriends do… and Bruce, to his shock, wants to be a good one. It will take some time to warm up the right muscles, flex and stretch them properly, but he hopes he will get there eventually. Romantic gesture seems like a good place to start: his country boy is going to appreciate the effort. Little white lie about a busy schedule should be quickly forgiven.

The sound of key unlocking the door is oddly satisfying. Bruce walks into Clark’s apartment with ease, like he has been doing this a thousand lifetimes before.

\---

“Clark, do you have my hard drive?” Lois looks like she is in a hurry, stuffing manila folders into a duffel bag. “Oh shoot,” Clark scratches his neck nervously. She lent him the external hard drive yesterday; it contained some files that could come in handy. “Sorry Lo, I completely forgot.”

“Well, I’m leaving to DC in a couple of hours, mind if I take it myself?”

“Not at all. You have the key, right?”

“Yeah, I do. Take care, Smallvile.”

“I’ll make this up to you!” He promises when Lois puts on her coat. “Why are you going to DC anyway?”

“Confidential meeting,” she winks at him and then she is out the door.

\---

Bruce frowns when he hears the door opening; he should have at least two more hours before Clark comes back from work. The main course is not ready yet, not to mention the dessert… _It’s okay,_ Bruce calms himself, _not everything has to go according to the plan._

The footsteps are all wrong. High heels click on the floor and suddenly Lois Lane, The Daily Planet’s most treasured journalist, looks him dead in the eye. “Bruce Wayne,” she says. Just that.

“Miss Lane,” Bruce greets her as kindly as possible, putting a freshly cut scallop on the kitchen counter. For a second he wants to inhabit the bubbly moron persona that got him out of trouble multiple times. However the unrelenting stare, gleaming like a sword in bright sunlight, tells him she is not going to buy it. Both of them have the full right to ask “what the hell are you doing here” but somehow no one wants to make a use of it.

“I hope this will stay between the two of us,” Bruce opts for the sleazy charm because that is always the easiest disguise. “It’s a surprise, you see. ”

“Surprise,” Lois parrots, quickly scanning the kitchen. “Of course.”

“Yes.” Bruce starts to feel sick. “So… Can I help you with anything?...” 

“No, no. I just need to grab one thing… A thing of mine, you know.” She walks into the living area; it is clear as day that she is not a stranger to this household. “And I’m out. Like I’ve never been here.”

“Right,” he is about to choke on his fake giggle. “Thank you for your discretion, miss Lane.”

“Good luck, mister Wayne.” Judging by her tightly pursed lips, she too would love to die now.

Bruce listens to the sound her high heels make, eyes closed, focusing on his breathing. Once he is sure Lois has left the building, he smashes the scallop to pieces.

\---

Perry has given the green light to a piece about Adam Price, aka Anthony Douglas. One could say he was almost pleased when Clark pitched the idea. “Better make it good, Smallville” – it probably means “fantastic” in his dictionary.

Something smells kind of weird when Clark enters the apartment. _Must be my neighbor’s dinner_ , he shrugs. Forget the smell – the article is waiting. It has to be twice as good as usual so Bruce can really sink his teeth into it. If he gets mad… so what? 

\---

Bruce runs through frozen forest. His throat and lungs hurt from the icy wind but he does not care. The blood is boiling in his veins, making him feel hot, skin prickling and itching.  

_He let her keep the key._

How could he overlook it? It was so obvious. Staring right in his face, gleaming like a sword in bright sunlight. Lois Lane, the journalist who made the first contact. Brilliant woman. Attractive, too, if the pictures from Clark’s phone are any indication. Especially a few tasteful nudes in the collection. Yes, he hacked every file, digging deeper and deeper even though it felt like twisting a knife in his gut. Lois and Clark having fun, dining together, travelling, loving each other. Lois was there for him, with him, supported him through the hardest moments when Bruce was blinded by hate. She knew Clark and was present in every part of his life.

_He let her keep the key._

Bruce punches the next tree he passes by, breaking the skin on his knuckles. Of course they were together. It is only natural. All it takes is a little chemistry and good timing. They had both. _It’s because they are normal,_ he thinks, _unlike you. Always suspicious. Cold. Angry. Fucking weirdo. Unable to fucking function around people anymore. Normal people connect, build relationships, and you? The guy’s from outer space and he acts more human than you do. Makes you feel alive again. What can you give him in return? Will it be better than what she gave? Don’t kid yourself. You’re worthless._ He stops suddenly and vomits. They will get back together. They have so much in common. They can get married and have kids. Even though they broke up, they still have feelings for each other – that is why she still has the key. To Clark, Bruce is an exotic adventure. She is a home. _No,_ he thinks, _it won’t end like this. I’m not going to let it end like this._  

The moon raises above Gotham. Every punk who decides to do something stupid tonight is going to really, _really_ regret it.

\---

_Meet me tonight at the Goring after work. Room 801. – B_

Clark has mixed feelings about the text. They often meet at hotels: this way media will not notice that Bruce is visiting the same spot every time he is in Metropolis. The proposition is not unusual but what does it say about the state they are in? _Am I really rushing things?_   Clark sighs. A small part of him wants to be “vengeful”, to flip a finger and spend the entire evening on the one article Bruce forbade him from writing. That part is never going to win though. The very thought of holding his lover close and staring into his eyes turns Clark into a puddle. Always a fool for love.

\---

Bruce realizes that he is waiting for Clark like he is waiting for prey: hyperaware, his senses sharpened, heart rate lowered. He opens his mouth wide and makes faces in order to relax the taut muscles. Nothing can betray the rage that is boiling within. Just thinking about _that woman_ makes him see red. _Keep it together you piece of shit,_ he scowls at himself. Perhaps it is time to prepare a bath.

Sometime later, the man who opens the door and welcomes his guest is the definition of perfect composure.  “Hi,” Bruce says with a lazy smirk, “how are you today?”

“Not so good.” Clark puts a hand on his cheek when they are kissing. Genuine boy, always starving for affection. Bruce slides the tip of his tongue into the warm mouth, getting a taste of what he has been missing. A soft mewl tells him he is not the only one who longs for more. “Now I’m fine,” Clark smiles, pursing his lips a little. “Sorry I couldn’t make it yesterday,” Bruce lies easily, one hand resting on Clark’s lower back. “I wanna make it up to you.”

“So that’s why you invited me here?”

“Maybe,” he teases, lowering his voice. “You know what’s the best thing about this place?”

“The view?”

“That too, but the bathtub is more fun. It’s waiting for you.” Clark’s eyes crinkle with naughty merriment. His face lights up whenever he is in the mood. Wonder if _she_ noticed…

For what is worth, it looks like she kept her word; their mutual _friend_ does not seem to know anything about the unfortunate encounter. “I’ll better get rid of my clothes then,” Clark purrs.

“Good call,” Bruce approves.

The bathroom is already filled with pleasant aromas of lavender, vanilla and sandalwood. White marble shines in the dim candlelight. Clark hums contentedly as he slowly sinks into the milky foam. “So, is it good?” Bruce asks, standing in the doorway.

“It’s amazing. Thank you,” Clark stretches his long legs. “You’re not going to join me?” Sometimes Bruce is very close to admitting that he hates getting naked in front of someone. The brutal years have left ugly marks on his body. The fact that his age is starting to show does not help. Insecurity plagues him whenever they make love with the lights on. More often than not he tries to remain clothed until they are done. _She_ does not seem like a person with body issues…

“It’s just you tonight,” he says, relaxing his jaw, “I’ll be right back.” Alcohol should help him unwind a bit. He brings a bottle of Dom Pérignon and two champagne coupes on a silver platter. “Mister Wayne, are trying to seduce me?” Clark smiles, suddenly bashful. “Would you like me to seduce you?” Bruce quirks an eyebrow, recognizing the reference. The bottle opens with a quiet pop. “To a wonderful evening,” he proposes a toast and sits on a brink of the bathtub. “To us,” Clark says when the glasses meet with a gentle twang. The drink is exquisite: dry and invigorating like early autumn, a bittersweet hint at the end. It would be a great shame to belt it down in one swing. “What was keeping you so busy?” Clark asks, his eyes and voice as soft as a cloud.

  _Aaah,_ here come the questions. Something as natural as breathing for most couples. For Bruce it is yet another necessity to dance around the truth. “Connections with China,” he answers. “Not sure how much I can give them without losing an arm and leg.”

“Did you work at night again?” Clark tries to hide his curiosity behind a façade of innocence. Bruce is not fooled. Angels with dirty faces tried all kinds of tricks on him throughout the years. “Yes,” he decides to give the man something to latch on. “A bunch of college dropouts came up with a new kind of roofies. The pills looked like sugar sweethearts. Arrived on the black market just in time for Valentine’s Day.” That is enough. Clark does not have to know what Bruce did do them when he found the lab. Gordon complained about treading on teeth again. _She_ would not be so violent…

“I’m sorry,” Clark whispers. “Don’t think about it,” Bruce empties the glass and rolls up his sleeves. “Now get your hair wet,” he says, picking up a small bottle of shampoo.  

“You’re gonna wash my hair?”

“That’s the plan. What, you don’t want me to?”

“No, I’d love that. It’s just…” A happy blush crawls up his cheeks. “I don’t know. It’s very sweet of you.” Bruce smirks at him, asking: “Just relax, okay?”

The shape of Clark’s skull is familiar and foreign at the same time. There simply has to be a link between Kryptonians and humans. Such resemblance cannot be a mere coincidence. Scientists provide an overwhelming amount of theories; Bruce himself leans firmly towards directed panspermia. It caused his insomnia to get worse; it was fueled by the images of gods from the stars, ready to destroy their failed experiment and reclaim the planet in the name of a greater race. That was a long time ago, before he discovered Clark’s secret. Kal. Child of the stars. The missing link. Right here, in his hands, so warm and ordinary. No wonder _she_ fell for him…

“You’re very good at it,” Clark whispers with appreciation. Bruce thinks he has been massaging his head a little too roughly, but it is hard to be too rough with Superman, is it not? So many pleasurable ways to find out.

After the bath, he orders Clark to stand still and towels him dry from head to toes. The half-erected dick does not escape his attention but he chooses to ignore it. They will get to that in a minute. “What is that?” Clark asks when he sees Bruce pouring something into his palms. “Argan and mandarin orange oil,” he explains. “Don’t move.” He gently distributes the oil all over Clark’s skin, starting with calves and slowly making his way up. The alien body is a perfect blend of soft curves and firmness. The hardness of muscles underneath, the hair and a little bit of fat here and there, the hot blood running within, the human form with its small imperfections, all of this hides something larger than life. Watching it from so close in the candlelight, touching it in the most intimate way while the smell of oil swirls in the nostrils… That is almost like meditation.

“Bruce…” He has been so caught up in his work that he had not notice the hunger in Clark’s eyes. The air between them is charged up, ready to make sparks fly any second now. It is getting harder to breathe. Bruce swallows, adding some finishing touches to his lover’s chest. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to try out,” he says in a hushed tone. “You can say no if it’s not your thing, I won’t mind. Just be honest with me.”

“What have you got?” And that is what drives him crazy: Clark’s shy enthusiasm in bed. Contrary to what the world seems to believe, there is not a lot of people who truly enjoy sex. Bruce has slept with a lot of boys and girls who treated it as a way to get something or somewhere, but never enjoyed it in a real way, did not celebrate the beauty of corporealness. But Clark… he just _likes_ it so much. _She_ liked that about him, no doubt…

“Follow me. Take the champagne with you.” They move to the bedroom in silence. “Kneel here, next to the chair.” Clark listens obediently. Bruce can hear him panting. _Good boy._ Wonder how he will react to what is waiting for him in the bedside drawer. “You can use the green, yellow and red code.” The silk rope feels almost liquidus to the touch. “Green means everything’s alright and I can keep going. Say ‘yellow’ if anything makes you uncomfortable,” he places a medium-sized butt plug on the countertop, “I’ll stop and do something else. Say ‘red’ and I’ll cut the rope immediately, no questions asked,” Bruce puts a pair of paramedic scissors next to their neglected glasses. “You don’t have to break the ties by yourself. We can decide if we want to continue or call it a night. No powers unless I asked you to use them. Understood?” As expected, Clark nods eagerly. “Good. My voice should be the only thing you hear now.” Bruce caresses his lover’s reddened cheeks with the back of his hand. “You want to make your daddy happy, don’t you son?”

“Yes daddy,” Clark sucks in a breath like he has been dying to say this. Kinky little thing. Bruce rewards him with a kiss on the lips. “Don’t move.” The world is still out there, cold and hostile, but they have their own reality now.

The heavier or more powerful the energy concealed within the subject is, the more beautiful the rope work will be. That is why it is better to work with subjects that have something hidden within them. The technique Bruce uses is simple and easy;  usually he finds the sophisticated patterns more appealing to the eyes, however he is not sure if he could keep it up long enough to create something artistic. He makes sure to restrict Clark’s mobility, starting with the upper torso, then going for the cross-chest box tie. No one utters a word. Their heavy breaths communicate more than words ever could. When Clark’s arms and hands are securely bound behind his back, Bruce decides to get just a little creative. He pulls the rope hard: it squeezes Clark’s breast, lifting them slightly and causing them to bulge outwards. “Green,” the sweet boy whispers with eyes closed. Code encourages Bruce to take things further: he folds the rope in half and makes a loop around Clark’s waist with a knot at the small of his back, then passes the rope ends between the buttocks and legs. They go up under the waist loop. Another knot. Bruce repeats the steps over and over again until the rope makes a diamond shape at the front, teasing Clark’s private parts in all the right ways. “You’re beautiful,” Bruce walks in circles, champagne in hand, and admires his work. “Touch the floor with your forehead,” he commands. The rope stuck in the cleft looks so fucking hot. “Do you know how you look from here? All I see is your hole,” he takes a sip, “little hungry hole, clenching. We should feed it, don’t you think?”

“Yes daddy, please!”

“Good boy. You asked nicely.” He takes the butt plug and a bottle of lube from the cabinet. “Good boys get rewards.” The plug slides in effortlessly, making Clark’s restrained body shiver. Bruce takes a seat in the chair and unzips his fly. “Come here, baby.” Without any further instructions, Clark brings his mouth to Bruce’s crotch, nuzzling at it hungrily until he can put his lips around the throbbing flesh. Bruce hums, allowing himself to just enjoy the moment. Superman, neatly tied up and kneeling, sucks his dick like there is no tomorrow – that calls for a toast. He downs the champagne and focuses on warm mouth swallowing his dick. “Slow down,” he asks, running a hand through Clark’s hair. “That’s it, you’re daddy’s good boy,” he says and pulls out a small remote from his pocket. Clark’s surprised _ummph!_ sends chills down his spine. The plug vibrates on the lowest mode. “You like that, don’t you? Keep sucking, sweetie. I wanna come in that pretty mouth.” There is a moment of hesitation before Clark says “Y-yellow,” not looking him in the eye. Bruce did notice earlier that the country boy is not very keen on getting him off like that. Shame. “Okay baby. You’re doing good, don’t stop…” He puts the vibration on a higher level. “Think you can come like that, baby boy? Without touching yourself?”

“I’ll try,” Clark mumbles and looks up, “I’ll do it for you, daddy.” Frankly if it was not for Bruce’s superb self-control, he would come right away. “Good,” his voice is coarse when he pets Clark’s hair. “Do you want me to talk to you, baby?” Muffled _mmhm_ seems like a positive response. “You look so pretty with your lips on my dick. You’re doing so good. My dirty little boy… Rope isn’t enough for you, is it? Next time I’m gonna wrap you up in chains. You could break them easily but you won’t. Because you’re a good boy who listens to his daddy… I’ll keep you full… I’m gonna come in your ass anytime I feel like it, you’ll never be empty… That’s the thing you like the most, isn’t it? You love it when I come in your ass.” He clicks on the remote and hears the plug going faster. “Nothing makes you happier than daddy’s load. You always beg for it so beautifully. Daddy’s gonna breed you, baby, don’t worry. I’m gonna fuck you so hard you’re gonna…”  

For a brief moment Clark looks like he is suffocating, then opens his mouth wide and comes with a long, ragged shout, resting his forehead on Bruce’s thigh. He is gorgeous. “That’s my boy,” Bruce whispers. He cannot remember the last time his dick was this hard. Probably New Year’s. Probably each time Clark touched him and smiled. “You did so well, baby. Daddy’s proud of you. Now, can I do what I promised?”

“Yes, please,” he smirks. Bruce gets rid of the plug and takes him right there on the floor. The inside is almost too hot to handle, so moist and welcoming that Bruce grabs Clark by the hips and just shoves his entire length in one go. _She_ could never have him like that. This is where Bruce finally wins, when he is balls deep in Clark’s ass. “Mine, mine…” he grunts quietly with every thrust. Not hers. Not now. Not ever. Orgasm builds up in his loins, it is getting harder to catch a breath… “Yes, it’s yours, daddy,” Clark moans, making Bruce reach the fucking orbit. There are actual stars in his eyes, his legs are trembling, head is swimming and he will never, ever get over this, over him. “Daddy is done using what he owns.”

A century seems to pass before he is able to get up. Clark stays in place, lovely and obedient as usual. Once the ties have been cut, they get on the bed where Bruce peppers Clark’s body with light kisses. The rope has not left a single mark. It is expected but still fascinating. “What do you want for dinner?” Bruce picks up the phone to order room service. “Steak,” Clark says, lounging in the sheets. “French fries. Taco. Chocolate pudding. A whole box of samoas.”

“And for the main course?”

“I don’t know, maybe a cheeseburger?”

“Done and done.” Clark chuckles and presses his lips to the inside of Bruce’s palm. It is quite heartbreaking that this cannot last. With each passing second, they are already saying goodbye. He cannot fool himself: ultimately Clark is going to go back to her, and he is going to go back to nothing.

 


End file.
